Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“Exactly. I’m so glad you see. It’s not personal—”

“No, it is personal. Everything that matters in life is personal. Bobby’s in jail, Meredith. He’s already been beaten once. In a week they’ll release him from the infirmary. I’m trying to find something, anything that might help us understand that evening.”

“I wish we could help you.”

“Before he gets beaten again.”

“I really do.”

“Bobby didn’t kill anyone in cold blood,” Nadia said. “You know that. You see how he plays hockey. He doesn’t have a mean streak. He doesn’t have any violent tendencies.”

“As opposed to who, my son?”

“No, Merry. As opposed to the person who’s really responsible for that poor young man’s death. As opposed to the thugs who beat Bobby and might kill him next time.”

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here and comparing my son to the criminals your boy is in jail with.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Please leave, Nadia.”

Nadia felt her composure slipping. All she wanted to do was talk to the kid with his mother present. Was that unreasonable? Funny how you never really knew a person until you suffered through adversity with her. Nadia took a quick breath to steady herself.

“I didn’t compare Derek to anyone,” she said. “This conversation has gotten a little—”

“Get out.”

“Merry. Please. I’m just trying to find out if Derek knows anything that might help.”

The floor creaked. Meredith turned toward the door.

“Help with what?” a man said.

Trent Mace filled the doorway. A spoon protruded from a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy. He bounded into the sitting room and hugged Nadia with his free hand. She’d spied him watching her in the Fordham stands on more than one occasion. Nadia guessed she might have better luck with him.

“Help with what?” he said.

Nadia explained.

“Honey, go ask Derek to come in for a few minutes.”

Meredith bristled. “May I speak with you in the kitchen for a minute?”

Trent excused himself and followed his wife out of the sitting room. Meredith’s fury echoed down the corridor, but Trent’s reply didn’t. A minute later they returned with Derek. He sank into an upholstered chair.

“I don’t know why he said he was coming over here,” Derek said.

“You didn’t make plans earlier in the day?” Nadia said.

“Nope.”

“Is it possible he was going to pop over unannounced?”

“Huh?”

“Did Bobby ever come over unannounced, or did he always make plans ahead of time?”

“I don’t know. I guess there was always a plan. I mean, Bobby’s a planner, right?”

“Is he?” Nadia said. She’d never thought of him that way.

“Sure. He draws up plays for the coaches sometimes. And he knows what he’s doing every day for the next week.”

“Did he mention what he was doing the night he got arrested?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope.”

“Did he seem different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he seem upset or depressed or concerned about anything?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know. You can never tell about Bobby. That’s his thing. He’s poker face twenty-four-seven. If anyone should know what he’s been thinking, it should be you, shouldn’t it? I mean, you’re his guardian, right?”

“Hey,” Trent said. “Watch your mouth.” He turned to Nadia. “I’m sorry about my son’s manners.” He turned to Derek. “What about the girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Nadia glanced at Trent, Meredith, and Derek. “What girlfriend?”

Meredith looked surprised. She glanced alternately at her husband and son.

Trent commanded his son with a nod of the head. “Speak.”

“There’s a girl in Brighton Beach,” Derek said.

“What?” Nadia said. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. About a month ago.”

“What’s her name?”

“I think it’s Iryna.”

“You think?” Trent said.

Derek stared at his father from the roofs of his eyes. “Okay, her name’s Iryna. She’s Russian.”

Nadia blushed. She could feel Meredith’s eyes all over her, judging her for not being intimately familiar with every aspect of Bobby’s life. And Nadia agreed. She thought she’d known about everything Bobby did, but clearly she’d been kidding herself.

“How did he meet her?” Nadia said.

“I don’t know,” Derek said.

Trent pointed a finger at Derek. “Son, you think you’re helping Bobby by keeping a secret? You’re not. It’s time for you to man up. Speak.”

Derek took a deep breath. “She’s a model.”

“What type of model?” Nadia said.

“Lingerie and swimsuits and stuff.”

“How old is this girl?”

“I don’t know. Maybe sixteen or seventeen.”

“How did Bobby meet her?”

“She friended him on Facebook.”

“Facebook? Bobby’s on Facebook? That’s impossible.” Bobby had agreed to stay away from social media to minimize the risk of someone recognizing him and revealing his true identity. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. A couple of months. He’s got fans.”

“He does?”

Derek nodded. “On account of the Gáborik race. The YouTube videos.”

“And how did this girl find him?”

“A friend of hers showed her his home page. They had a lot in common.”

“What friend?”

“Another girl. A friend of mine.”

Meredith frowned. “What friend of yours?”

“Someone I met. She goes to St. Mary’s in Flushing. We play them twice a year. She goes to the games.”

“And you’ve been seeing this other girl?” Shock registered on Meredith’s face.

“She friended me after one of the games this past season. We’ve gone on a couple of double dates. She’s a model, too. It’s nothing serious.”

“Who is this girl? Who are her parents?” Meredith turned to her husband. “Did you know about this?”

Trent shrugged.

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Meredith said.

“Did Bobby go to see Iryna the night he was arrested?” Nadia said.

“Couldn’t tell you,” Derek said.

“Son, if you’re lying…”

Derek glared at his father. “I’m not lying.”

“Do you know her full name and address?” Nadia said.

“Her last name is Arshun. I don’t have an address. We never went to anyone’s house.”

“How about a phone number?”

“Nope. I never called her. She’s Bobby’s girl.”

“But you have your girlfriend’s number.”

“I wouldn’t call her my girlfriend.”

“Call her whatever you want,” Trent said. “But go get your cell phone, and call her now.”

Derek stood up.

“No, no,” Nadia said. “I just need a look at her Facebook page. If I can get a last name and a look at her picture, that’ll be plenty.”

“You don’t want her phone number?” Meredith said.

“No. I’ll find her,” Nadia said. She caught Derek’s eyes. “I’d rather her friends not warn her I was coming.”

THERE WERE THREE Arshuns listed in the phone book as living in Brighton Beach. All were listed under men’s names. Nadia called them sequentially. A different woman with an Eastern European accent answered each time. Nadia identified herself as Cynthia Moss, Vice President of the Lauder Modeling Agency in Manhattan. She asked to speak with the promising young model named Iryna. Each time she was told no such person lived there. Nadia asked if they knew a teenage model by that name that lived in Brighton Beach. The first two women said no and hung up. The third one, however, kept talking.